


Time Running

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, F/F, Femslash February, Minor Character Death, boy king au, lots of blood, megaddon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Hell on Earth, and Meg's put her hat in with the Boy King and his demon brother. Her latest mission, transporting the last knight of Hell back to her boss, shouldn't be too hard, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Meg was covered in blood.

It wasn't hers, so that was a nice start, but it was dark and sticky, matting into the motel carpet under her boots, still dripping from the severed head in her fist. This wasn't the first impression she wanted to make. She sneered and let the head thump onto the floor, let it roll around in the thickening puddle while she tried to shake the gore out of her hair. Fantastic.

She had enough blood in the chalice for the call though, and there wasn't enough time to preen and get her meatsuit looking spiffy again. Even in the dark red reflection of the oversized cup she looked rough. She scowled at her own face and dipped her finger into the thickening blood, swirled it around, said all the right words. In a minute, a gruff voice answered her, floating through the ether and into her head and it wasn't the Winchester she'd wanted, but Dean would have to do.

“All done with grandpa,” Meg said. “I can see where you boys get those looks from. Even in pierces, he's pretty damn cute. Gotta say, he doesn't put up the typical Winchester fight though. Not nearly dirty enough.”

Dean ignored her and plowed right on to business. “Any sign yet?”

“Nope.” Meg glanced up from the cup to the closet door. “Just granddaddy so far.”

“Stay on your toes, the prophecy-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that dusty tome backwards and forwards, relax. It's under control.”

“We're trusting you here, Meg.”

“Sure are.” Which was his problem, really, not hers. The connection was still open when the closet started rattling all strange. “Hm, gotta go, party's starting.” Meg vaguely heard Dean trying to say something else, but she knocked the chalice over, wiped her knife on her already stained jeans and shook out her hair one more time.

The closet door busted off the hinges, and Meg rolled her eyes at the dramatics. Not that she'd get her security deposit back anyway, what with the blood on the floor and the walls. Well, not that she'd actually _paid_ money to get a room. No one really paid money dollars for anything anymore, although some people liked to keep up appearances. Still, it had been a nice room but prophecy did tend to leave some stains behind.

It was like a little lightning storm in the closet for a second, and then in a blinding, deafening woosh, there was a woman standing there. She panted with effort, stared around with wide eyes while her silk dress ruffled in the preternatural wind from the portal.

Meg let her look around, watched her all curious before she said anything. The woman grinned when she saw the head on the floor, painted red mouth stretching even wider when she saw the body a few feet away. She raised a perfect eyebrow when she saw Meg, blood-spattered and knife-wielding.

“I was expecting the last knight and here I get a prom queen,” Meg said, raising her voice over the portal's thunderclap closing. “You might wanna change your dress, it's a little sticky in here.”

“You were expecting me?” The woman asked, stepped carefully towards Meg. Her eyes flashed confusion for a second, and then they went black. “I think you've got the wrong room.”

“Neat trick,” Meg smirked, flashed her eyes to black too and crossed her arms. “But this has all been foretold so I'm going to go ahead and assume you're Abaddon?” The woman said nothing, but she didn't have to. Meg poked her tongue around her lips, looked the woman up and down but didn't move otherwise. “Really like the suit, the whole beauty queen thing oughta play real well with the boys. Oh, and by the way, you're welcome.” Meg nudged the head on the floor with the toe of her boot and raised her eyebrows at the woman. Her smile faded the second she recognized the head, curving down into a tense frown.

“You think you did me a favor?” The woman scowled at the body, at the blood strewn around the room. “Really?” She took one step forward and then blurred out too fast, and the next thing Meg knew, she was up against a wall with one perfectly manicured hand squeezing her neck, with those bright red lips smirking inches from her face. “He had something I needed, a whole library of information in his stupid monkey brain and now you've splattered it all over yourself like the selfish demon whore I can only imagine you _are_. So now-”

“He didn't know anything,” Meg forced out, voice all strained and high from the hand closing around her windpipe. She felt her face reddening, her breath squeezing out and, dammit, she _liked_ this meat, she didn't want to lose it yet. “Landscape's changed, Carrie, can't you feel it?”

The woman frowned harder and glanced away, took a deep breath and Meg watched her brow lower in confusion, her lips part just a fraction. She glared back down at Meg and her grip loosened, not much, but enough to swallow. “What is that?”

“Hell on Earth, baby. A lot happened while you were time-travelling.”

“How?”

Meg shrugged one shoulder, curved her mouth into a smile even though she was starting to see stars. Her meatsuit was panicking slow from lack of oxygen but it was kind of panicky skin anyway, and she liked the squirmy feeling in her stomach, the itchy primal fear clawing at the back of her brain. “Assuming you're familiar with Winchesters,” she coughed out, nodded towards the head on the floor again. “Let's just say things took a turn that grandpa wouldn't be too proud of. I'll explain the rest on the way.”

Oh, it was delicious to watch the curiosity blaze in those meticulously made up eyes, to watch the indecision passing through that pretty face and starting the wheels spinning in her brain. The woman let her hand relax and drop and Meg sucked in cool air like it didn't stink with the undertone of death, of blood, of the ozone from the portal that tore apart the closet, stuck her knife back down her shirt and headed towards the window. She threw it open and sucked in that air too, even though it was worse sometimes, all brimstone and decay.

“On the way where?”

“Not far,” Meg said, all nonchalance. “But first, you gotta tell me straight, Abaddon or not?”

“Guilty. Who are you?”

“I'm Meg, I'm a demon.”

“I gathered that. And you work for?”

“The King of Hell.”

“So who's wearing the crown these days?”

“You'll see. Come on,” Meg nodded towards the door. “I'm afraid it's a long drive but I promise I'm great company.”

Abaddon paused, prom queen perfect amongst all the gore in the room, face shadowed with indecision again. She glanced at the burned out closet, at the headless corpse, finally back at Meg. “You stink with fear.”

“That's just my meatsuit, but don't worry, she actually gets off on it. Humans, am I right? So many weird intricacies. Got all buttery with your claws in my neck too, isn't that funny? No accounting for taste but at least it'll be a fun ride.” She didn't look back after that, just stalked to the door and flung it open, made her way to her transport, the only car in the parking lot with windows and all of its doors on the hinges.

Abaddon frowned but, eventually, followed Meg out, slid into the front seat of the beat up pick up truck and noisily arranged her dress around them. “So _you_ aren't scared of me?”

“Oh honey, I'm terrified,” Meg grinned, jammed the keys in the ignition and punched the truck into reverse with a heedlessness that made her stomach flip around. “But I like to lean into it.”

That they could both grin at.


	2. Chapter 2

The truck broke down something bad before they were even out of the state, the engine smoking out and eventually bursting into a fiery cloud before it totally gave up the ghost.

Meg swore, bashed her fist against the steering wheel but Abaddon laughed, loud and clear like a bell, cutting through the last dying churn of mechanics. _That_ was annoying. Meg glared at the knight, turning the keys over in the ignition. “I don't know why you're laughing, you're the one who's gotta hike it in heels, Carrie.”

Abaddon didn't stop laughing. Meg opened the door, got out and left her alone in the front. Meg heard her plain as day, and it was starting to grate on her nerves. They'd spent most of the drive with the knight grilling Meg and, consequently, with Meg alternating between lies and avoidance. Her exact instructions were not to talk to Abaddon, actually, but it was much more fun to lie, even better to tell certain truths and shock Abaddon outright. So what if she wasn't following directions? If silence were so important, they wouldn't have sent her in the first place.

And besides, she liked the other woman's voice, sweet and melodic with the perfect undertone of cruelty. Even better, she liked her laugh. Most of the time.

Not now, though. Now, it was getting on her last goddamned nerve.

Meg popped the hood, coughed at the smoke and stared, muttered, “Never did pay attention to these things.” She could do a lot, but she couldn't fix a truck that probably should have died a decade ago, not even with magic.

She jumped; Abaddon appeared at her side, not magic, just cunning and silence and she'd taken her heels off, had them dangling in her hands while she peered over the front of the truck. “So who's Carrie?”

“It's from a movie. You remember movies, right?”

Abaddon shrugged. “Meat never had time for movies, not _those_ ones, at least. I remember her being a bit of a shutterbug, though. Weird, the things the meat remembers, isn't it?”

“Mmm,” Meg agreed, hands on her hips, hovering over the engine. It smelled bad, it looked worse, and there wasn't another car on the road anywhere. They hadn't passed another person the whole way from the motel to...where ever the hell they were now, but that wasn't too strange. Everyone was pushing to the coasts, leaving the middle of the continent to crumble and die while they tried to fight the inevitable. Meg sighed through her nose and spun around, leaned against the truck and surveyed the area.

Middle of nowhere was an understatement. They were surrounded by flat unkempt fields, derelict farmhouses here and there but mostly wide open road with absolutely nothing redeeming or helpful about it. Signs once in a while to keep them on track, but no one around to bleed to she could put in a call and save their asses from a long trudge.

Meg pursed her lips, swore out, “Well, fuck me.”

“That an invitation?”

“No,” Meg whirled around, eyes narrowed. She had one bag in the cab of the truck, one bag to sling over her shoulder for the long walk down the road. She jerked her head for the knight to follow, and after a second, she did. “By the way, I'm not even supposed to be talking to you, let alone propositioning you, so-”

“So why are you?”

Meg smiled, a straight line of slightly angry mouth spreading over her sharp chin. “Because, I have this feeling you'd be slightly cross if I kept mute the whole time and I don't want to have to neutralize you.”

“Ah.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, probably not. Do you know where we're going?”

"Mhmm, straight ahead until we run out of road or hook up with some rubes, whichever comes first.”

“And then?”

“Rubes we bleed dry, get a message to home base. Then they send some new transport so we can actually get the hell out of here.”

“And once you get me back to home base?”

Meg let the laugh bubble out, shook her head and side-eyed the knight. “Full of questions, aren't you? I can't tell you that, you're technically my captive.”

“Really.”

“Technically.”

They walked on in quiet for a few minutes. It was an eerie quiet, no sounds, no birds, no cars, no planes, no wildlife crunching through the dead grass and the ravaged fields. Just footsteps on the road, heavy thuds from Meg's boots and the soundless shuffle of Abaddon's bare feet against the warm blacktop. The silence built up everywhere, settling over them like a blanket and that was just fine.

But it made Meg jump when Abaddon started talking again, voice all low and full of murderous smiles. “I'm only with you peaceably because I'm curious. You seem to know the lay of the land, who all the new players are. You seem...capable, so why are you serving _anyone_?”

Meg paused, a hitch in her step for a second while she sighed and rolled her head back, glared up at the watery blue sky, the whispy clouds. Well, it had taken the knight longer than she expected to start her little game, the same game everyone tried to play with Meg. Get her to turn, get her to serve some new cause, trick her into thinking she could be a big deal on her own. Wasn't going to work, _never_ worked but they had a long trip ahead and maybe a little double-dealing would go a long way. So instead of what she wanted to do – a fairly simple spell, just a waggle of her fingers, really, to shut Abaddon's mouth for good, or at least for a day or two – instead of that, she glanced over, raised an eyebrow, took the bait.

“Oh sweetie, I learned one thing ages ago – and you know by ages I mean centuries - “

“Is this the 'find a cause and serve it' speech? You know how many times I've heard that from demons? None of them meant it, and I know you'd turn on a dime for the right bait.”

_Oh, she's too smart by half_ , Meg thought, side-eyeing the other demon. “Guess we'll have to see, huh?”

“I guess,” Abaddon echoed, side-eyeing Meg right back with a wide red smirk.

Ten, twenty, countless minutes out, Meg spotted seagulls squawking, flying circles up ahead and she stopped short, put her arm out to stop Abaddon too. She smelled something on the wind, the vaguest hint of _commerce_ , of grease traps and smooth parking lot and synthetic _everything._ She hummed out loud, flipping fast through her options and deciding quick, flinging her arms up around Abaddon's neck, pressing close so the ruined green silk rustled. She smiled up at the knight without her teeth, whispered, “Hold me?”

Abaddon did with zero hesitation, her smooth marble-pale arms slipping around Meg's body, staring down placid and calm like she'd just been waiting for it to happen.

For a second, Meg didn't want to follow through, wanted to stay tucked against Abaddon in the middle of the road, so close she felt her breathing, smelled the old flowery tang of her face powder. She found herself wondering about that lipstick too; did it taste old and plasticy, like cosmetics used to? Or, if she leaned in, if she pressed against the gorgeous demon's mouth, would it taste like blood and ashes and death? Would it be something else completely? Meg bit her lip, teared her eyes away and tipped her head all the way back, smoking out of her body in a hollow scream.

She swirled around the bodies, stretching herself out like she hadn't in a long while, her incorporeal form brushing against the woman holding her meatsuit in her arms, whispering, “Wait for me, Carrie,” before she stormed off into the sky, speeding ahead towards all those vaguely familiar smells.

Meg was going to check out the mall.

 


End file.
